


Backwoods Cooking

by LtPinkLaurel



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Action/Adventure, Blood, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Cooking, F/M, Family Dynamics, Food, Friendship, How Do I Tag, Pairing undecided, Team as Family, Tenth Class (Team Fortress 2), There’s so much cooking ya’ll, also I don’t know how that works, but I’m kinda leaning towards Medic, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:54:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23648035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LtPinkLaurel/pseuds/LtPinkLaurel
Summary: A small woman carrying a briefcase scurried to the counter, sitting in the empty seat near the lounging figure. Brushing away the dust on her dark purple pencil skirt, the woman sat, fidgeting with the collar of her lighter purple blouse before she opened the worn briefcase and placed a manila folder before the figure. She cleared her throat."I've got a job for you, it pays a lot," she said, getting straight to the point.The figure barely glanced at her, continuing to drink, enjoying the burn of the alcohol."It's a wonder how you found me.”
Comments: 12
Kudos: 66





	1. Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> This work has been inspired by ‘This Is Where We Are Now’ by PurpleCompromise, thank you for inspiring me to write and publish this!

The bar was a small thing, a quiet place where sweet jazz was played and conversations were at most a loud chatter. Earthy tones with red the spotlight, glass bottles of alcohol were lined behind the counter, catching the eye. A figure could be seen sitting on one of the red stools at the counter, hidden in a long trench-coat. Feet swaying and fingers tapping on the wooden table-top with the beat of the music.

"Straight whiskey," the voice said, smoky like cigar wisps.

A chuff from the old barkeep was the only indication that they were heard, and the clinking of glass followed. Above the door to the bar, a bell chimed, but the patrons occupying it paid it no mind as they continued drinking.

A small woman carrying a briefcase scurried to the counter, sitting in the empty seat near the lounging figure. Brushing away the dust on her dark purple pencil skirt, the woman sat, fidgeting with the collar of her lighter purple blouse before she opened the worn briefcase and placed a manila folder before the figure. She cleared her throat.

"I've got a job for you, it pays a lot," she said, getting straight to the point.

The figure barely glanced at her, continuing to drink, enjoying the burn of the alcohol.

"It's a wonder how you found me," the statement brought a hint of uneasiness to the woman, before she confidently answered.

"You have all the qualifications we need, especially for this long-term job. If you make it."

The glass made a ringing sound as it hit the bar-top, sharp eyes finally turned to assess the unassuming woman.

'Slim and small, overall could be weak in a hand to hand fight, but I see that bulge of a gun, lady.' The person switched to the brown folder, before reaching for it with scarred hands. Long dark hair, with a single streak of silver was pulled back into a low tail, lips slowly stretched into a smile as they read through the file.

"I was getting a bit lost with travelling lately," the now identified woman declared, and she laughed as the much smaller woman sighed in tired relief and cleaned her black-framed glasses against her shirt.

"I always _was_ good at cooking."

* * *

The deep orange sunglasses reflected the sunlight beautifully, the New Mexican desert extended for all the eye could see, a literal sea of sand. The dust blown from the car was covered to the best of her ability, her cream trench-coat obscuring the lower half of her face. The petite woman beside her was driving the car, and the silence of the road was only slightly awkward.

The approaching buildings created great shadows on the ground, the compound at Teufort made of aluminium and wood, red a startling contrast against the barren wasteland. The car stops in front of a chain-link fence, the metal burning hot from the sun, and she thinks she could probably cook an egg on it.

Getting out of her seat, her steel toe boots cracked the dry ground, puffing out a breath, she slipped to the back of the car, hefting the heavy suitcase out of the trunk and carrying it along with her to Miss Pauling.

"We'll need to walk the rest of the way," says Miss Pauling, and the woman nods.

The looming building towers over the two walking women, a clear difference in the two. One petite and professional, while the other tall with broad shoulders and an intimidating aura.

"The others have already been informed of you, so they'll be waiting to introduce themselves," and the older woman grunts just as Miss Pauling continues, "it's a good thing their adjustment period is over, you'd have had a harder time." She says not unkindly.

The double doors open with a creak of metal, and the woman can only glance at Miss Pauling as the varying sounds of rushing feet can be heard, she quickly swipes her sunglasses off, leaving it half hanging from her breast pocket. Eight different men stand before her.

All mercenaries.

"The Administrator has considered the request for better food, and so I give you the experimental class, the C _hef."_ Miss Pauling announced to the group more for her sake than theirs, and from the expressions on their faces, it looked like Christmas came early (although in differing amounts).

"Hello," she said, trying for a smile she knew would only draw attention to the pale scar pulling from her jaw to her cheek.

"Hello!" Varied greetings sounded out from the group, one man in a balaclava looking particularly miffed at her appearance.

"Another American?" He scoffed, murmuring something vaguely French under his breath. She frowned at his blatant rudeness.

"Eh bien, c'est un peu grossier, n'est-ce pas?" If there were two things she was definitely proud of, it was her cooking and the many languages under her belt. The look of mild surprise on his face was certainly satisfying for her, and for the others if their snickers were anything to go by.

"Vous connaissez l'anglais?"

"Bien sûr, la France n'est pas le même si vous ne connaissez pas la langue." Her pronunciation was perfect, and he smirked proudly at her words, billowing smoke from the cigarette perched on his lips.

"Well this should be interesting."

He gracefully left to go deeper inside the compound, "that was Spy, you'll get used to his personality soon enough." Miss Pauling amusedly said.

"From left to right is Scout, Demoman, Soldier, Sniper, Heavy, Pyro and the Engineer," she continued, gesturing towards them. "The Medic isn't here?" She questioned.

"Dunno, maybe he'll come for lunch?" A young man said, dog tags swaying with his movement, baseball cap barely hiding the mischievous gleam in his eyes.

"So will you only be our Chef?" Scout asked, his tone suggesting something else, and the Chef chuckled, "I'm much too old for you, boy."

"The private's got you there, maggot!" The Soldier laughed, patting him on the shoulder at his scrunched up face.

The Chef mused over his words, "I was a platoon leader, discharged now though," and the Soldier immediately snapped to a smart salute, the straps of his helmet swinging back and forth.

"M-my apologies Ma'am!" The Soldier sputtered, and the Chef quickly waved him off, awkwardly scratching at her cheek.

"Welcome aboard, I'm the Engineer, but just call me Engie." A warm Texan accent, overalls and goggles, a yellow hard hat catching her eye. She ignored the way his right hand felt harder and gave away more, regardless if it were covered by a work glove.

"Good to work here." She smiled, it was none of her business.

A hiccup and a swig of a bottle, "nice to work with ya lass!" An ebony Scotsman, sporting a beard and an eyepatch-the Demoman. She eyes his suspiciously unlabelled bottle before nodding at his greeting.

"How good of a chef are you?" The Sniper questions, peering beneath a wide-brimmed hat, his sunglasses similar to the one in her pocket.

Her smile only grew wider at the drained sigh from Miss Pauling, and it wasn't because of Scout's constant chattering in her ear.

"We've been tracking her a few weeks after your request, it was very difficult to get a hold of her." Miss Pauling's shoulders slumped, and the Chef couldn't help but pat her shoulder the same way Soldier did. The mercenaries watched in confusion, and the Chef laughed.

"I've been traveling for a long time, been over the world to learn about cuisine. Name it, and I'll make it."

A giant of a man stepped forward to greet her, and for once she felt dwarfed in size. He outstretched an equally massive hand, and she clasped it, expecting it to be a crushing grip.

"I am Heavy Weapons Guy, but call me Heavy. Look forward to Russian cooking." He said, gently shaking her hand.

"Я бы рад," she quickly replied, showcasing her talent once more, and she grinned at his delighted look.

A sudden blow to her back and she stiffened, "Pyro!" The Engineer huffed. But the only thing they were doing was hugging her, not noticing any harm, she slowly relaxed after a few seconds.

"Mrce mo mreeph muo!" The Pyro shouts, gas mask muffling their voice and filters digging into her shoulder. The smell of rubber made her nose twitch.

"Pyro says it's nice to meet you." The Engineer helpfully supplied. She awkwardly tapped the covered hands around her waist, relaxing fully once they were gone.

"She will have a trial period to see if she can be out in the field for two weeks, if not, then she'll continue to just be your Chef." Miss Pauling butted in, obviously wanting the atmosphere to become slightly serious.

"She'll start tomorrow."

The Chef smirked eagerly, ready to have her hands start moving. As it was currently the end of the weekend, it was a day off and most of the men had the leisure to do whatever they found interesting.

"I best put away my things then." She gestured to her worn down suitcase.

"Just leave it to me!" Scout piped up, already moving past the others to walk down a hallway, obviously expecting her to follow. She shook her head, and the other men only shrugged at her questioning look. The Sniper tipped his hat.

"Sniper," he properly introduced himself.

"...Chef," she hesitantly said.

"You'll get used to it."

Following Scout through the base, they made their way towards the dorms, passing by name plaques, they stopped just at the end of the rooms where the name 'Chef' was carved into the metal plaque.

"So! This is your room, the key should be under the panel," Scout pointed out. Slipping the brass key into the door handle, she stepped into the room with a cursory glance.

It was small, just big enough to fit in a bed, wardrobe and a table with a chair. The walls were bare with colour, and the window had no curtains. "Once you get comfortable, you can decorate it however ya want."

Now that she can see him, she examines him discreetly.

'Thin, but with a name like Scout he should at least be fast. So strong legs, best to take those out first, particularly his Achilles tendon, if I'm lucky.' Placing her suitcase onto the springy bed, she figured she could pack it away later. Right now she had a job to do.

"So..where's the kitchen?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually have a tumblr with the same name, and will be posting art of Chef! So look forward to that :)


	2. Gruyère over there

Admittedly, she should have expected the kitchen to be simple.

Wooden cabinetry and an oven, a microwave hidden away next to the fridge. No dishwasher in sight, but at least a dish rack was present, a pantry was also next to the fridge.

Ultimately not bad, she's been in worse conditions.

"This is the kitchen, every week we get supplies or just go to the town nearby," Scout says and she hums noncommittally, examining every inch of her new workplace. This will permanently be her own battlefield, and if she even misses where the carrots would be, it would cost her time. Cooking for ten people (including herself) will be a challenge.

And she loves challenges.

"So..what's for lunch?"

She pauses, before opening the fridge and smiling at how everything looked fresh. The fruits didn't look bruised, the bottles of milk didn't smell bad and there was a nice selection of vegetables. Going over to the pantry, canned food was spread over the shelves, ranging from tomatoes to peaches to fish, boxes of oats and pasta stacked over each other haphazardly. Packets of flour and a box of potatoes and onions sat on the floor. Overall, it was an organised mess.

"What do you usually have for lunch?"

Scout grimaced, a pained noise escaping him, and she could only wonder at the way he twitched so suddenly. He leaned backwards across the polished wooden dining set, its surface suspiciously marked with different chips and dents.

"Sandwiches, all the time," he bemoaned, and she pursed her lips to stop the breath of laughter that nearly burst out of her.

"Time for something different then."

A quick crack of a pair of gloves that seemed to have mysteriously appeared, she rummaged around the cupboards for something big and deep enough to feed many. She recalled seeing a pre-made package of pie crust in the fridge and she quickly grabbed it, Scout watches her work, straddling a chair with his chin resting on his arm. She ignores the feeling of being watched in favour of bringing out the flour to the counter and lathering the surface with a generous amount.

"Not gonna tell me what you're makin'?"

Not stopping in her movements of sliding flour along the rolling pin she'd found, she glances at his curious face, before slowly pouring water into the bowl filled with dough. She glances at him again and smiles at the practically pouting look he has.

"Why don't you watch and find out?" She drawls while lining the pie plate with oil.

In quick hand motions, she's already rolled out the dough to the size of the plate. The oven is preheated, and a skillet is set over the stove, she wanders to the fridge with swift steps. The clacking of her shoes quietly ringing through the silence.

A wooden chopping board was placed neatly onto the counter, four slices of bacon were chopped with a grace that Scout shouldn't have been surprised about. Gently putting in the meat into the skillet, the smell of cooked bacon spread throughout the kitchen, and the soft sizzling sounds of oil.

The pie pastry goes into the oven and the bacon comes out from the skillet, the sliced pieces steaming in the newly placed bowl. Using only a bit of the juices of the meat left, Chef throws in an onion she'd sliced beforehand, while also taking out the pie crust with a towel that was left hanging from the handle of the oven.

Scout's mouth watered at the aromatic scent of the hissing onions, his nose twitching at the tantalising smell. As the onions continued to cook, Chef left the skillet's side for a moment to bring out the wedge of Swiss and Parmesan cheese from the fridge.

Shutting off the stove, she left the onions in with the bacon pieces, mixing them together with the wooden spoon she had used with the skillet. A touch of the dough deemed it to be cool enough, so she spilled the mixture into the bottom of the dough covered pie plate. Just as she was beginning to grate a moderate amount of cheese atop the onions and bacon, Scout chimed in.

"It's a quiche! You're makin' a quiche!"

A snap of his fingers made her eyebrows rise in amusement, and he continued to talk about his thought process during her impromptu show.

"I first thought it had to be a pie when you got that dough and plate out, but then you had bacon and onions? And everyone knows a pie is for sweet things, so it was probably a quiche instead." He nodded his head as he spoke, arms crossed over the chair.

She grinned at his self-satisfied expression. "You're right! I am making a quiche."

"Man, I haven't had a quiche in so long," as if reading his mind, his stomach growled as he spoke, and she faintly laughed at his sheepish look.

"This is a quiche Lorraine, traditional in France, usually I would have used Gruyère cheese because it has more flavour, but Swiss cheese is also fine," she explained, making fast work of said cheese.

Bringing out a carton of heavy cream and four eggs, she lightly beats the eggs with a fork while also pouring in about two cups of the cream. The pale yellow liquid frothing at the edges from her sure hand strokes.

"Where are the spices?"

"Ya see that cupboard up there? Should have some bottles of the stuff." He pointed.

A dash of nutmeg and white pepper, a pinch of salt, and it was done. Finally pouring the cream mixture into the pie plate and over the onion-bacon-cheese, she grabs it with the black rag, the colour contrasting with the white gloves.

"Alright, it should be done in about thirty-five minutes." Popping open the metal lid of the trash can with her foot, she casts her gloves into the bin. Cracking her neck, she begins to start the clean-up.

The screech of a chair being dragged across the floor makes her look up from wiping down the counter, with a clatter Scout now sits quite close to the bench-top. He continues talking, seemingly never stopping, and the topics keep changing as he waves his hands animatedly. Whenever the topic crosses to food, Chef couldn't help but join in, indulgently explaining certain facts that may seem interesting to the boy.

"-as actually created when he was on a 24-hour gambling streak, and he didn't want to get up to eat, so-"

"Something sure as hell smells good."

The chatter abruptly stopped, and Chef blinked, startled at the sudden intervention. The Engineer stood there, his hard hat and goggles probably discarded somewhere. She idly noticed that his eyes were blue.

"I've just made a quiche."

"Wow, already cookin'? You really didn't have to," he said, pulling up a chair to sit beside Scout.

She laughed, making her way to the oven and reducing the heat. "I should get to know my workplace, shouldn't I?"

"How long is it supposed to take?" Engineer asked, comfortably resting his arms on the counter.

"Another ten minutes or so." A grumble from Scout was heard, his fingertips tapping against his cheek impatiently.

The ten minutes passed with the small group talking, Chef growing accustomed to these men's personalities and in turn them getting accustomed to hers. The quiche was cooling to the side, its tendrils of heat waving lazily into the air, the top glistening golden. Chef had already warned a whining Scout that he had to wait, lest he wanted to burn his mouth.

With two plates lined up, the quiche was quickly cut into triangular pieces, the crust cracking audibly as the knife ran through it and served up with the pie knife in its stead. The centre of the quiche jiggling slightly as it should, and when the fork bites into the quiche, it seemed to spill forth as if melting.

The hums of delight during the meal brought Chef a sense of accomplishment and pride. "Don't bother with making dinner, I'll do it instead," the Engineer said, once he finished swallowing his final piece.

"Are you sure?"

"Think of it as a welcome dinner, you'll no doubt be tired after the surgery as well."

She paused, the atmosphere suddenly silent, and when she looked up at the pitying looks she was receiving, her slitted eyebrows furrowed and a slight crease came between them.

"Miss Pauling told you about the surgery, right?" Chef waved off his worried look, "yes I was informed, but I didn't realise it had to be done so soon."

Engineer tapped the white bench-top, his plate slightly clattering at the movement. "It should be done as soon as possible if you want to start fighting this week."

"Where would the Medic be then?"

An inconspicuous peek between Scout and the Engineer. Scout murmured something vaguely rude underneath his breath, before standing up. "Fine, I'll take you to the Med-Bay."

Surprisingly the walk wasn't very long, the Med-Bay was just around the corner and with Scout rushing it was even faster. "Are you scared of the Medic?" She asked, and he spun around so quickly she couldn't stop the way her fingers clenched into a fist. He huffed, and she released the tension in her shoulders.

"Course not! He's just...not really happy with me right now." His face turned sour quickly.

They came across two green doors, the windows looking into the room, rounded and tinted. A few chairs lined the walls edges, with a ticket dispenser mounted on the wall as a joke.

"Well here's the Medic, I'll leave the rest to you." He patted her shoulder a bit condescendingly, before sprinting back towards presumedly to the kitchen where the rest of his quiche lay waiting. Taking a deep breath, cracking her knuckles and fixing her shirt, she pushed the doors open. What awaited her was a typical Med-Bay, with medical instruments that she couldn't even begin to name and...white feathers on most of the machines.

Another door was at the back, 'office' written in bold lettering above the door frame. Figuring that since the Medic wasn't in the Med-Bay, he must be in his office, Chef walked with slow steps to the unexpectedly ominous door and knocked.

It was quiet, before the sound of papers rustling and a muffled 'come in!' was heard. Taking another second to fortify herself, she walked in without fear.

Round glasses currently being wiped and perhaps one of the most tired looks she's ever seen. There sat a man who only looked at her once she closed the door to the room.

"Have we met before?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know: the sandwich was popularised in 1762, England by John Montagu, the 4th Earl of Sandwich. It is said that while gambling, on a particularly long binge, he asked his house cook to bring him something he could eat without getting up from his seat. Thus the sandwich was born.


	3. A slight prick, to make you tic

"No...I don't believe we have," he said, a confused frown marring his face.

"Ah, my mistake then."

Hands were shaken, and they introduced themselves. The atmosphere had lost its previous tension, and Chef was relieved to find that the familiarity she had seen in the man must've been her imagination.

"Shall we begin then?"

"I'd like to know more about the surgery before anything else, the information from the folder wasn't very clear," she interrupted his gathering of medical equipment, the sharp edges glinting in the artificial lights.

"Are you interested in the specifics? Medically?"

"Oh no, just a bit more detail than what I got would be fine." She watched his face fall in disappointment.

"Well as you know, the surgery is mainly done on the heart as a transplant, as a typical heart would be unable to withstand the power of zhemedi-gun," his voice had dipped, the German accent coming through stronger as he walked her out of the office.

He continued to talk in an almost frenzy, his hands becoming more uncoordinated, and she wondered for a moment if this man really was qualified to do this. They had stopped at a gurney, a large stand off to the side, holding...something that resembled a fire hose. Its tubing connecting to something far off beneath the gurney, and she was polite enough not to stretch around to peer at it.

"Anything I need to know about afterwards?" She asked, grabbing the offered gown.

"This should only take four hours or so, and you'll be done in time for dinner- oh you can keep your pants on for this."

She nodded, the white gown's opening twisting to her front, the material feeling rough on her skin. She sat on the gurney, her shirt folded clumsily on another. With a sigh, she situated herself gently on the slightly hard surface.

"Before we begin, any health concerns? Or anything I need to know that wasn't in your file?" His demeanour had changed, turning cold and professional. He went around the surrounding equipment, checking and snapping on gloves that were in the same colour as her employer.

"Are we using anaesthesia?" She cocked her head to the side, that silver string of hair a disparity among the black tresses.

"Just local, there is not enough for a general one here, I wouldn't use it anyway," the last part was mumbled quietly enough that she could only gather half of what he said.

"My shoulder has a large burn that goes a little across my chest, so the skin is numbed in that area," she informed him, noting that he looked down at his little clipboard.

He hummed, "zhat shouldn't be a problem."

Before starting anything, he strided to the deep sink hidden in a corner, and washed his hands thoroughly with hot water. She could see the way the water steamed and his skin flushed red. She idly thought he was _excited_ for this, she herself only wanted it to be over.

Lazily tapping a fingernail against the rail of the gurney, she watched as he took her pulse, fingers finding the steady beat of her soon to be missing heart.

'It's a miracle I hadn't lost it until now,' she inwardly mused.

Her temperature was also taken, the tip of the metal warming under her tongue, and the results recorded onto the clipboard. Medic slipped the edges of the gown off her chest with cold hands, her wary glance at his face softened in relief at the detached expression, glad that she could relax.

She studied the sharp black lines beginning to form on her chest, going in between the middle of her breasts, the marker squeaking against her skin, the ticklish sensation making her stomach tense. The lines were clean and evenly placed, the same hands that were moving wildly, now struck with precision.

"Not bad," she said appreciatively, and she sensed that she should recognise the pleased scoff.

The sudden flapping of wings made her flinch, and she felt a presence by her throat as it bobbed. She couldn't look down unless she wanted to crush whatever was under her chin, it nuzzled against her pulse and she could feel it spike.

"Medic," she rasped, earning a coo from the bird.

"Archimedes!" He scolded, the entire situation was strange enough that it made her want to laugh. The peep of beady black eyes and a pink beak from above her lips made her smile at the sight, the white feathers ruffling at the movement.

"Is this sanitary?" She jokingly said, still staring back at those dark eyes.

"Until he gets into a flesh wound," his voice portrayed his smile.

She gazed at his back incredulously, the clangs of medical instruments resounding through her ears. She could only hope that this bird, currently making itself comfortable, wouldn't make a nest amongst her ribs.

"He's not going to move, is he?"

"Are we ready to begin?" He ignored her.

She sighed, before grudgingly nodding, the bird under her hooting in annoyance. She eyed the needle filled with anaesthetic and felt the liquid pass through her skin. It burnt and stung in a way she knew she couldn't reach to claw at her insides, yet she didn't flinch.

"You should be feeling zhat very soon, I'll also add a sedative to make the incisions easier."

The weight of the bird (Archimedes was it?) was a welcome comfort to the way her chest felt numb with pins and needles, she didn't bother watching him work, not that she could with the tickling strokes of feathers at her throat. The ceiling was quite interesting, she decided, and began counting the cracks that made up the spiderweb network.

"Inform me if there is any sensation whatsoever," he said, chuckling as Archimedes chirped an answer for her.

The bird's heartbeat was loud in her ears, the sedative working its way into her systems with glee, and she thought now would be a perfect time for a nap.

With the murmurings of Medic and the soft breaths of Archimedes as background noise, she felt herself slip away into sleep.

* * *

"Ah, willkommen zurük!"

The lights were too bright, and her chest felt too heavy. She hazily blinked her eyes at the smiling face of Medic, his red gloves coated with a darker shade she knew to be her blood.

"I did not expect you to fall asleep." He grinned, eyes twinkling in mirth. "You're the first to do that."

She hummed, voice rumbling in the quiet. The red glow of the medi-gun attracting her attention.

"With zhe accelerated healing from the medi-gun, it shouldn't be long for you to get up." He threw his stained gloves in a nearby bin. "How did it feel to be dead for a minute?"

"Wouldn't be the first time," she breathed in deeply, feeling her lungs seize at the attempt.

"Deep breaths now."

It was silent as neither continued the conversation, Chef following his instruction and breathing, body now sat up in a slumped position. Archimedes flying off reluctantly. She could see her skin glistening with the blood and the light of the medi-gun, the smell pungent and invasive to her senses. Evidently Medic wouldn't be cleaning the area. The stitches caught the eye, the skin closed in a neat fashion, the scar raised and dark, another to add to her collection.

The blood had seeped into the gown staining the white material, and had (somehow) also gotten to her pants. The black didn't make it visible, but she could feel the way it clung to her legs wetly.

"Should be dinner by now," she broke the silence, glancing at the far corner where Medic was, disinfecting his equipment.

"Ja, you can go now."

"A rag to clean up would be nice." She piped up.

"Should be on the table," he countered, back still turned away, missing the squint of her eyes.

It was a quick wipe down before she stood up to leave, still feeling sticky. Desperately in need of a shower, she swayed on the spot, before beginning to walk out of the Med-bay. The setting of the room falling into a hush, and the sound of her shoes clacking on the floor the only sound, her hand gripped the edge of the double doors.

"I hope we work well together!" With that, she left.

She walked the short way back to the kitchen, hoping that someone would be there to guide her to the showers before she could eat dinner. Her eyelids heavy with exhaustion, and mind far away, but she was brought out of her thoughts by the sound of shouting and laughing. No doubt it was the others, dinner must be almost ready then. She chuckled at the way these people were starting to grow on her, like the beginning buds of a weed.

She couldn't help the niggling feeling of familiarity that remained with her throughout the day.


	4. Okra and corn, provokes a dinner to be born

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I mentioned that I don’t own TeamFortress2? Cause I don’t.
> 
> WARNING: There is graphic descriptions of disturbing images in this chapter, please be wary.

The showers were just off to the side of the bathrooms; the stalls were made of white tiles that seemed to glint cleanly, and the doors were high enough that it covered everything except the very top of your head. The small groove in the wall of each stall had enough space to fit in toiletries, and the shelves in the room's corner provided enough protection for clothes from the spray of water.

It showed the amount of care the men had when she came into the kitchen with her pants streaked with dry blood and shirt stained pink. That is to say, none at all. Some quick directions and she was off to the showers with a fresh pair of clothes in hand.

Her shoulders slumped as the hot water danced across her back. She watched as the chalky tiles ran with pink water, slipping down the drain. The grainy feeling of sand in her hair distracting her for the moment.

She shivered as she left the stall, the tiles cold underfoot. Though her towel was small, it did its job well in drying her body. The clothes she had brought were much more comfortable than what she had came in with, a cream coloured sweater and black pants. She thoughtlessly wondered if this would be too casual for her first day on the job.

Bundling up her dirty clothes, she realised she didn't know where the laundry was, or even if they had a washer and dryer. Deliberating whether to search the compound, leave the clothes in her room, or just ask someone, she went with the second option. As the clothes fell into a pile in a corner, she promised herself that she would throw them into a washer before they began to smell.

Just as she left her room, the sound of hurried footsteps and the squeaking of shoes caught her attention. Scout slid to a stop in front of her, not even out of breath and with a grin on his face.

"Yo! Dinner's ready!" He cheered. "And since Engie cooked, you know it'll be good!"

"Well we shouldn't keep him waiting," she said, eyes twinkling at his enthusiasm.

They left in a trail of quick chatter, and when arriving into the kitchen/dining room, it was to her surprise that there were a few people missing. Looking around, Chef could see that Engineer was in front of the stove, the smell of onions cooking was reminiscent of when she herself was stirring a skillet prior to her operation.

As she got closer, she saw Demoman slumped on the dining table, his arms curled around his head as he listened to Soldier talk. Heavy stood to the side of the kitchen, watching as Pyro placed plates and spoons on the bench top in a neat order.

"Good evening men." Chef nodded towards the table, earning a loud (and tired) greeting in return. Heading to take a seat at the countertop, she could hear the sizzling sound of food and the click of the stove turning off.

"What's on the menu tonight?" She questioned, loud enough for Engineer to catch.

"Okra, corn and tomatoes, and a side of mashed potatoes," Scout snorted at the rhyme, and was rewarded with an annoyed glare for his efforts.

"Sounds delicious," Chef offered, pleased at the dish.

"Come get it hot!"

The yell was echoed with a charge of steps. The group grabbed the provided utensils and tableware to wait in a huddle as they each poured in their share of the meal. Most had gone to the dining table, but Chef watched curiously as Pyro slipped a corner with their hands full.

"They don't eat here?" She asked, placing her own plate on the table.

"Nah, they're some of us who prefer to eat somewhere else, and," Engineer pointed with his spoon, "if you haven't noticed, some like to eat later or not at all."

She hummed as she ate her food, the dish having some heat, what with the slow burn of peppers hitting the back of her throat. She struggled not to crack a smile at Heavy's belated reach for his water, Scout openly snickering at his reddening face.

"What, can't handle some heat son?" Soldier taunted, despite his own flushing face. Heavy scoffed at his hypocrisy. She felt that Soldier was probably squinting under his helmet.

Dinner went on smoothly, the conversations light and easy, with jokes and laughs. The men were curious about her, as was understandable. Questions were frequently asked from both parties, Chef raised a brow at some of the things she heard.

"So I really will see another me on the field?"

"That's right! Weirdest thin' tae see at first," Demoman said, mouth full.

"Look like us, but have different personalities," Heavy interjects.

"Yeah! Blues are just some crying' wimps!" Scout says, "we're waaay better than them!"

The discussion turned towards work, Chef grasping the timetable easily enough. A single break between hours and it was recommended to wake up early to take a shower, with breakfast a quiet affair in the morning.

'Looks like I have to wake up earlier than everyone else,' she thought.

"Do I need to bring food with me into the field?" The question brought laughs and an enthusiastic yes! from Scout, but most disagreed.

"It'll be hard to carry around so much food, unless you've got a backpack," she frowns because no, she doesn't. Perhaps bite-sized snacks could work, like crackers or cookies.

"What's your main weapon? Gonna beat the other team with food?" Scout sniggers, the thought of Chef using her meal to choke a blue Spy till he _literally_ went blue, funny in his head.

"No, a Colt 629 Commando."

Engineer made a face, "bit flashy isn't it?" Chef shrugged, black hair falling over her shoulders, "it's a bit loud but it gets the job done."

Dinner ended with full stomachs and drowsy faces, dishes fell over each other haphazardly in the sink and Chef had eyed the team's choice to leave the dirty dishes for tomorrow. She would most certainly clean them in the morning, regardless if someone else had wanted to do it (which she highly doubted).

They each parted ways, but only Scout and Chef walked together to their dorms, the rest went their separate ways and would (maybe) sleep in their own beds later. Scout weakly raised a hand in goodbye before shuffling off into his room, Chef herself was barely keeping her eyelids from staying closed. Blindly throwing off her shoes, she fell to her bed with a thump, the mattress squeaking slightly under her weight.

With a sigh, she could feel herself succumbing to the dark embrace of sleep, despite having taken a nap of four hours before. The rhythm of her alarm clock ticking away allowed her muscles and heart rate to relax, and her eye movement to finally stop.

She fell dead to the world, but not in her dreams.

* * *

_Gunfire, so loud in her ears, a constant noise that's been repeating for how many days? The fire and smoke a beacon in the dark for where the targets are, but why can't she shoot? Why isn't her gun working?_

_There is no gun in her hands, long and dirty fingers are clenched on nothing but air. The ground is stained with blood. Is it hers? The dying people around her? It boils and bubbles from the Earth like a volcano, slipping between feet and trampled grass._

_It's hard to breathe, the air stings in her lungs and makes her eyes water. There is an explosion not far from her, the ground cracking and figures disappearing in a great plume of distorted air and heat. Gore splatters everywhere, turning her vision into a red painting._

"— _!_ _" She doesn't know what was said, there's a ringing in her ear that's twisting the world around her detachedly. A hand grabs her shoulder, forcing her to face something that doesn't look human, not anymore._

_Its mouth opens, there's only blood and a few teeth. Its face is just bloody muscle and there's no nose, the eyes are just deep caverns that are looking right into her soul._

"— — _-!_ _" It keeps saying something, she wonders how it can speak without a tongue._

_Her world is rocked once more, the thing is flung away and she is thrown to the ground. Her cheek breaks against the concrete, there is blood here too. Something rolls into her field of vision, and through the blur, fire, and gunshots, she can barely make it out._

_A grenade._

_There's not enough time to scream, something howls among the people, there's a bright flash of light and she hazily thinks the grass looks very hypnotising with blood dripping like water-_

* * *

Eyes snapping wide open, she gasps awake at the feeling of _fire, blood, ash-_ there's not enough air to breathe and she scrambles to unwind the sheets from her legs. Stumbling towards the window, she clumsily cracks it open, the cold air caressing her (broken) cheeks.

She breathes in a set pattern, the familiar rhythm calming her down. She drags the chair tucked in the desk under the windowsill, sitting down with her arms folded on the back of the chair. She closes her eyes against the cool wind, the sounds of dawn calming her further.

She opens her eyes to glance at the clock on her bedside table, the time is 6:53 am, she thinks she should get to work soon.

"It just had to be today huh?" She whispered tiredly.


	5. Seared and cleared

The silence of the kitchen was soothing, the ambience gave off a soft and mellow feeling to Chef. It was quite a contrast compared to yesterday's meal. Sunrays peaking through the window highlighted the cupboards and countertop, the red dirt outside turning orange at the first beams of light. The fridge was rummaged through, a carton of eggs and bread was placed gently near the stove, the pan starting to heat. Cracking her knuckles, Chef got to work with a yawn.

As the edges of the eggs were beginning to crisp and the smell was starting to travel, Chef smelt something else that was not supposed to be in the kitchen, the smell of cigarette smoke.

"Bonjour."

The word was a murmur, but it seemed to echo in the room. Chef gave a small twitch, the hand holding the spatula scraping the pan and just barely missing the frying egg.

"Good morning," she grumbled, evidently not a morning person.

"So, what iz on the menu today?" She glanced at Spy, confused on where he had gotten the cup of coffee before slowly answering.

"Eggs and toast, maybe some vegetables, or whatever I can make with these ingredients," she said, before catching the look in his eye, "or...if you have a suggestion I can take that into account."

He did not look up from his seat at the dining table, eyes continuing to read through the newspaper and obnoxiously slurping on his coffee. She wondered if he was doing that on purpose. Despite being awake for a while now, it did nothing to help with her morning irritation.

"I would not mind some _pain perdu,_ " he said.

'Just another word for French toast,' she mentally scoffed.

"Would you like that sweet or savoury?" She half-asked, half-demanded. "Sweet." He proceeded to down his coffee and walk to place the mug near the sink, but not directly inside it, nor fill the mug with water to soak. Though her body was facing the stove, her eyes were following his movements with a minute glare as she continued to cook.

'Another reason to dislike him.'

Whipping some eggs, sugar and milk together with a fork, she let the many sunny-side up's cool on multiple plates, before adding a pinch of salt to the egg mixture. Footsteps and mutters could be heard as she was dipping the slices of bread into the egg mix, the toast popped off with a _ding!_ And with the butter starting to sizzle again, the bread was left to turn a nice golden brown.

"Good mornin'," Engineer said on his way to the fridge.

A small grunt was the response as he grabbed the orange juice, Sniper had also woken up and was taking charge of the jug of coffee, liberally pouring more whenever he finished his mug. "Could you grab some spinach, some tomatoes, mushrooms and an onion please?" Chef asked, turning over the French toast with a spatula.

Another frying pan was placed on the adjacent burner, much larger than the first, oil was loosely thrown in to heat up and she set about cutting the vegetables into bite-sized pieces. With the mushrooms and onions sautéing on high heat, she focuses back onto the French toast, the four pieces nicely browned. With the bread finished she plates it with more haste than necessary, the honey pooling into the middle and glinting amber.

The plate is set down on the counter-top, further away from the dining table. 'If he wants it, he should get up and get it,' she thinks wryly.

She catches a glimpse of Spy's disgruntled face before turning back to the searing vegetables with a smirk, and adding the chopped tomatoes and some nutmeg, salt and pepper. The spice bottles clink together when she puts them away, and the aroma permeates the kitchen.

Stirring gently, she notices as more people trickle in, grabbing plates with eggs and toast, a stick of butter with a knife is passed around the table.

Finally the spinach is added in and stirred through until it is wilted, the green mixing vibrantly with the red of the tomatoes. Topping it off with a squeeze of lemon juice, she brings the pan with her to the dining table and plants it on top of a towel, right in the middle of the table.

Grabbing her own plate, she takes a seat beside Demo - close to the strawberry jam, and helps herself to a generous amount of the vegetables. The steaming pan was practically only enough for one person now, much to Chef's delight. Even Scout had taken some, however small it was.

Breakfast was quiet, the munching and swallows of food were the only sounds and everyone was in favour of ignoring each other rather than talking. Chef was slightly sore through all this eating, her sleeping position the night before did not agree with her currently aching chest.

As forks grated against empty plates, Chef was glad that the first thing she had done when entering the kitchen was clean the dishes, as the slow rising of a tower of dirty plates and cutlery was beginning to show. Chewing thoughtfully, she realised that today was officially the day that she was starting the other side of her job. It was unlikely that her employer would fire her, or make her quit this job if she did badly in the fighting aspect, as cooking was her main position. She _was_ getting a high pay, regardless.

Swiping her plate clean, she watches as most of the team was reluctantly awake. Neither Medic nor Pyro ate with them, and she could not deny the curiosity of Medic's absence.

"The Medic does not eat with us?" She twisted to Heavy, his own plate void of food except for the juices of the vegetables.

" _Het_ , he is always busy in office, do not know what he does inside." She hummed at his response, her attention changing towards Demo and Engineer, the two beginning to make sandwiches, based on the ingredients spread out.

"For lunch?" She jerked her head to the counter in question, receiving a nod from Heavy in return.

Slapping her hands free of any bread crumbs, she stood to journey to her room, her heart beating a tad faster at the understanding of the day's schedule. With a click of the lock, the door shut behind the form of a woman who had just begun quite a dangerous game.


	6. Let’s battle! No time for baffle

**WARNING** : Graphic descriptions of gore and vomit, please be wary.

* * *

It's with the directions from Scout does Chef arrive at the 'spawn room' as he puts it, . The large egg-shaped machine sits elegantly in the corner and her eye is drawn to the mass of cables and wires attached to the side. The complex is covered on one side with personal lockers and benches, the other side with a medical cabinet seemingly filled with everything. Even surgical tools that _definitely_ should not be there, she thinks.

She's dressed in the work clothes provided to her through a package hidden under the bed, ironically it comes with a chef's shirt, white with red buttons and red gloves. Brown pants that fit snug at the ankle and standard work boots, somehow everything was her size. A leather belt with large pockets and thigh holsters for each leg.

When she enters, most of the men are already there, she's given nods by some and ignored by others. She hasn't been assigned a locker, but there's a few empty and gathering dust. She puts away her gun, settling it into the back of her chosen locker-next to Scout it seems, and brings out the lunch she has prepared for herself. Crackers, a small tin of jam and water.

'Should be enough,' she thinks to herself.

Just as she's beginning to sit down on the bench, Engineer calls her over. "Here," he plops an object into her hand. It's a device that fits against her ear, but there is only one piece.

"I doubt this is for ear protection," she states, confused.

Engineer snorts, "it's for communicating, it'll be impossible to talk over the gunfire and distance. So just press once on the edge here to talk, and once more to stop."

She takes a second to marvel at the device, before clipping it to her ear.

 _[Mission begins in twenty minutes,]_ the voice doesn't come from her earpiece, but from the loudspeakers situated in the room, Chef startles at the sudden announcement.

"Just the Announcer or the Administrator, she keeps score of the progress."

"Strange..."

Engineer chuckles at the put out face she has, it hasn't even begun, but the second half of her job is already looking to be far more interesting than just cooking. Giving her thanks to Engineer, she walks back to her locker and handles her weapon with care. It's slung across her front by the strap, the black shine of the surface gleams, but it is not her Colt 629 that she focuses on.

She palms her pockets, hidden away are knives of all shapes and sizes. When she had first arrived, she brought two knife rolls with her. The first was for conventional use in the kitchen, while the other had a proper selection of combat and throwing knives, as well as a carving knife, a chef's knife and a bread knife. Of course these would never be mixed up, no that'd be quite unhygienic indeed.

_[Mission begins in fifteen minutes.]_

There's a pin board near the medical cabinet with various flyers and papers, but what stands out the most is the large map detailing the battlegrounds, it's a right useful piece of information and Chef is certain she has it memorised by now.

Scout comes rushing in, panting as he adjusts his cap and headset. "I ain't late am I?"

_[Mission begins in ten minutes.]_

He grins in victory at Chef, and she smiles in return, tightening the straps holding her thigh holsters which hold her largest knife each. They sit together on the bench, talking amicably as if without a care. But as each of her colleagues pass by or grab their weapons of choice, she casually glances at their position, analysing their behaviour and guns.

"Mornin'!" Demo waves with the hand holding the bottle of unknown alcohol, if she had not seen him sober(?) at dinner yesterday she would have thought he drank on the job and every minute of it. Or perhaps he just doesn't get hangovers? She shakes her thoughts away and looks towards the sudden gentle thud on the bench.

It's Heavy, with his minigun. It really is something to admire, large and well taken care of, she could tell from its' shine. She turns away as Heavy pats the gun fondly. There's a gleam that catches her eye from the corner of the room, Medic wiping down his strange healing gun on a table. The medi-gun really was strange, connecting to a pack on his back and with a fire hose nozzle.

'Curious,' she thought.

_[Mission begins in five minutes.]_

The Pyro is there, if she hadn't already guessed from their name, the flamethrower is a large giveaway. The muffled giggling is slightly worrying as is the way they're bouncing in place, but Chef couldn't exactly blame them. She herself was feeling eager, but a small part of her was tense, and if you were looking for it you could find it in the way her back was straight and her posture rigid.

The Sniper has the obvious sniper rifle, the wooden stock is well polished, but it is the inconspicuous jars that have her eyebrows furrowed to figure out their purpose. The Spy is inconspicuous himself, he hardly has any obvious weaponry beside the lovely revolver with ivory grips.

'I guess his profession _is_ primarily subtly, I could give him that.'

_[Mission begins in sixty seconds.]_

Straightening out her already straight posture, Chef sees the way the men begin to get up to leave, she grasps her gun tightly and stands up swiftly.

_[Mission begins in thirty seconds.]_

'This is it,' she thinks.

_[Mission begins in ten seconds.]_

"Don't worry too much! If you stick with me, you'll be fine!" Scout claps her on the shoulder.

_[Mission begins in five.]_

"'Aint like it's rocket science y'know!"

_[Four.]_

"Thanks," she says, the sarcastic undertone going unnoticed by Scout.

_[Three.]_

_[Two.]_

_[One.]_

_[Fight!]_

It is with a rush the group escaped through the doors, feet stomping on the ground, and Chef was following the trail left behind by Scout. He was fast, that's for sure, the big grin on his face expressing his delight at the speed he was going.

The blast of desert heat to her face was a sudden change from the air-conditioned room she was just in, unexpected and unpleasant. She blinked a few times to get the sand and dust out of her eyes, before peering over the corner to gather where Scout had led her.

A silver shining control point, the blue illuminating the surroundings, and there she got her first sight of the BLU team.

The blue clothed Heavy was eerily similar to her own, but there was something clearly...off about his presence. Perhaps it was also the look on his face, a mighty scowl and fierce eyes, it wasn't anything she had seen on her teammate so far. His own minigun was whirling through the heat, and it was now that she heard the sounds of gunfire and explosions settle in.

'How familiar.'

Scout was dodging with a surprising amount of grace, hiding behind the wooden posts and crates on the bridge, she could also see a sniper's red laser sight focused on the Heavy, right at the forehead. However, as the red light was following his movements, the Heavy switched directions causing the shot to hit the Heavy's shoulder.

With a roar of pain, the Heavy grappled with holding his minigun in his huge hands and as Chef noticed the opening, she propped her gun against her shoulder, turned the selector lever to semi and fired a resounding shot into his throat.

The splatter of blood and flesh was to be expected, as was the large body slumping to the ground and with the position of the shot, the head was left rolling to land next to its owner.

["You stole my kill!] The voice of Sniper came from the earpiece. Though his words were angry his tone told her that he was at least impressed.

["I saw an opportunity, and I took it."] She retorted back, stepping onto the silver point. The Voice of the Announcer stating that the point was being captured.

["She's learning already!"]

["C'mon, even I can do that!"]

It was when she turned to respond to Scout's remark that she almost became paste on the concrete, for the fire of a loaded rocket had narrowly missed her head from above. Cursing quietly, she dove further away from the hisses of rockets, the BLU team's Soldier seemed to be quieter from her own, but colder more methodical.

And then she saw herself.

For a moment she was looking in a mirror, the same hair, the same scar, and the same eyes that she saw every day, but it wasn't. For it was empty, the umber-coloured eyes held no emotion except anger, the kind that first froze and then burnt to ash with a gaze. It was a disparaging image of her, for this person looked to be stuck in grief and never learnt to move on.

It was this momentary lapse of inattention that cost her. The scattered shotgun blow through the back caused her chest cavity to explode outward, blood sprayed, and bits of bone and organs fell to her feet. The Soldier had somehow gotten behind her.

She woke violently, twitching and spasming on the cool floor. She gasped desperately for breath, but her throat was clogged with vomit and she clawed wretchedly at the skin, leaving bright red marks. The vomit had pooled into a pile of lumps and liquid, and she regretted eating a hearty breakfast if she knew this was going to happen.

["Chef's dead!]

["Ooh, someone better go check on the lass."]

["Medic!"]

"Here."

She looked up through squinted eyelids to find a gloved hand offering her a napkin and her bottle of water. Gladly wiping her mouth free of any residue of vomit, she drank the water with much relish. The gloved hand turned out to be Medic, the unfazed expression he wore only served to annoy her further.

"Is this normal?"

"Oh quite! The first time is always the worst," he grinned down at her, and perhaps she could see where his amusement could come from. Sighing deeply, she stood up with shaky legs and stretched her back till it popped. Medic was already walking away, no doubt he was needed, what with the yelling coming from her earpiece.

"Always shouting for my help, can't get a break," he mumbled under his breath, low enough that she barely caught it.

"Well," she chuckled, "let's get to it."


	7. Red earth and dead mirth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have trouble picturing the map/landscape imagine a mixture between Badlands and 2fort.

**WARNING** : graphic descriptions of blood and gore, please be wary!

* * *

Following after the footsteps of Medic, Chef's eyes drifted towards her surroundings. Unlike when she first went out, she now properly observed the area as they exited the spawn room. They went past their first point, the red of it signalling it was theirs already. It was placed on a large slab of concrete that could be accessed through the various stairways and, if you were particularly daring, through the many boxes and rocks scattered on the way.

They passed many wooden buildings—sheds, tall towers and open houses—this couldn't have possibly been a town, for it was situated in a way that made no real sense, and she determined that it was built specifically for the purpose of pretending.

The next point sat smack dab in the middle of a wooden bridge, and unlike the bridge she had just died on (and she shuddered to think about that experience) it was divided in half by rail cars, serving as good cover. As her boots hit the red earth, she saw a great valley right underneath said bridge, and that most of the buildings were supported by posts.

'It's a wonder how I missed all this.'

Towering spires of rocks and shrubbery paved way to the last point, the covered bridge which connected over a canal of water, the large openings of the sewers that lay beneath. As Chef and Medic neared, the blast of gunshots and explosions became more prominent and the current situation clearer.

"MEDIC!" Heavy shouted, leaning against his gun behind a building, gravely holding his side as he coughed blood. Medic rushed to his side, his medi-gun already lighting up and stitching his skin together.

The enemy team had held the point since her death, the point still shining a bright blue. She could see Scout further up ahead, fighting his double, using his pistol rather than the shotgun abandoned near a crate. Demo and Soldier were on the other side of the bridge, up against the BLU team's Pyro, the muffled cackling and the curses indicated to the going-ons of their provided distraction.

"Come!" Medic said sharply, gesturing to the bridge as all three of the group pushed to the control point.

The BLU Pyro, upon noticing the sudden charge of feet momentarily dropped their guard, much to the pleasure of the explosive-duo. A smear of red that Chef easily ignored. She stayed rooted to her spot, her eye drawn to that bright blue light.

_[Alert! The control point is being captured.]_

The abrupt flash of red caused her to blink, and the approvals echoed through her earpiece.

[“Alright!”]

[“Let's move up!”]

Hopping over the railway tracks that lay over the ground, Chef glanced over to Scout's direction, wondering if his fight was bad enough for intervention. The bloody outbreak of fisticuffs and the way the enemy Scout had slumped lifelessly proved that Scout was fine, hurt but fine. He ran with a limp to their position, catching Medic's attention.

"Doc!"

Bruises disappeared and his broken nose visibly righted itself under the red beam, Chef winced at the sight. The group left dust as they darted past buildings, and she noticed a distinction in the buildings on the BLU side. Instead of wood, metal and concrete were used, giving the atmosphere an artificial air, especially in contrast to the homely feel of wood.

Kneeling behind a wall, she paused as the team separated, Demo fell in with Heavy and Medic, heading down into the valley, while she watched as Sniper situated himself behind a window. Suddenly a hand clamped down on her shoulder and she jumped, fingers immediately going to her throwing knife.

"Chef! With me!"

She let out a sigh of relief when she realised it was only her team's Soldier, and she stared as he confidently strode into one of the houses overlooking the bridge. Boots thudding against the floor, her gun at the ready, she wasn't prepared for the lobbing of grenades to reach the doorway into the building. Soldier seemed to ignore this, instead choosing to launch his rockets toward said grenades.

A yell, and the onslaught seemed to have stopped, Soldier motioned her to move as he went out onto the bridge. The point was not blue or red, but a poisonous yellow that must have meant to be a neutral colour. With strong legs, and arms propping his rocket launcher, Soldier jumped onto the train cars holding crates and continued his strike. It seemed a very vulnerable position to Chef, so she hid behind rather than risk her head.

As if the BLU Soldier had the same idea as her own, he too crouched over one of the crates, an obvious ray of light behind him showed that their Medic was healing him, and she now realised the good defence of the tactic. Soldier tumbled off the crate with a cry and a final rocket now launched at his copy, who flopped onto the crate and let it pass over his head neatly.

She payed no attention to his unprotected form, rather focusing on the enemy Medic who had come out of hiding just enough that Chef could now throw the combat knife from her grip. It zipped through the air and landed in the man's throat, his grip faltering and helplessly going to his open wound, softly gurgling on blood as his trachea was pierced.

With the Medic now dead, the enemy Soldier was truly unguarded, and with a shotgun shell to the skull he was deftly dealt with. Ignoring the blood and brain matter that slipped down the opposite crate, Chef and Soldier paced on the control point. She worriedly kept her guard up, especially as the sounds of battle were starting to come closer.

_[Alert! The control point is being captured.]_

Just as the yellow switched to red, the clamour around the corner reached a boiling point and it burst into view. The rival Demo and Heavy had grouped up to cause chaos.

[“Medic!”]

[“Need some help over here!”]

[“SNIPER!”]

The loudest screech that came from her earpiece positively caused her to go deaf, deafer than she already was, anyway. She quickly looked towards the highest window, the reflective gleam of the sniper rifle and the red laser sight was the last thing she saw before she was shot between the eyes.

And everything went black.

* * *

Do I like leaving people (and myself) with cliff hangers? only sometimes (and I mean most of the time lol).


	8. Spy around and found

**WARNING** : Graphic descriptions of blood and gore, please be wary!

* * *

Waking up this time was different, sure she still trembled and jerked across the floor, but it was the splitting headache that drew her focus. She clapped her hands over her eyes, the sudden bright light causing the pain to flare. She grit her teeth at the way it pulsed in time with her heartbeat, fast and heavy, and it reminded her of—

"You alright there?" The southern drawl caught her attention, the worried undertone causing her to blink an eye open.

The Engineer was on his knees near her slumped form, hands raised slightly, ready to shake her from her stupor. The onslaught of light made her hiss and dig her palms further into her eyes. Despite having them closed and covered, the light pushed through her eyelids causing her to see a warm red.

"Did you get caught in the head?" He asked, and the nod she gave made the world spin.

"Yeah, the first time getting hit in the head is pretty bad, but it should go away after a few minutes." He glanced towards the doors looking on to the battlegrounds, the internal debate going unseen by Chef.

"Will you be fine by yourself?" She huffed at his question, waving a hand to shoo him off.

She sat there for a while, hearing the tapping of his boots fading away and the sound of her loud breathing in the room. Slowly but surely the red glow began to dim, leaving only the darkness from her hands.

Finally uncovering her face, Chef wobbled to her feet before grabbing her weapons and heading out into the hot wasteland, duly ignoring the yells from her earpiece. She ran sedately, going over dirt and wood, before coming upon the second bridge where she died ( _again_ ). It was empty and silent, the point still blaring red. Cautiously looking around for any of her teammates, she realised she was alone, alone and lost.

She continued forward quietly, body stiff as she passed concrete buildings, coming closer to the cacophony of noise. The final point for the RED team and the first point for the BLU team looked to be a blood bath, the point was still a yellow as each team was desperately fighting over it.

She could see Sniper positioned discretely on the building overlooking the mess. Hearing a distinct voice calling for her, she turned to see Scout waving her wildly over to his side, the wall protecting him getting shot simultaneously.

Jogging over to his location, hunched over to avoid the stray gunshots, she settled with her back to a heavy box. "You see that over there?" He pointed to their opposite side, where a heavy-set machine sat beeping. Occasionally, bullets flew from the guns situated on top of it in response to a peek of red.

"What is it?" She asked.

"It's one of Engie's sentries. You move, you get hit." He gripped his shotgun tightly. "Usually Demo would deal with it, but he jus' died to that Medic."

It looked to be a precarious situation with the BLU team at an advantage with their defence, if her team didn't move up, then they could quickly become overwhelmed. While trying to think of a strategy that could give the best results with the lowest risks and costs, a strange scent drifted subtly to her nose.

'Why...does it smell like cigarette smoke?' She thought.

The air seemed to ripple and an odd noise came from behind her, just as she twisted around to look at Scout, her arm was sliced open. Her blood dripping onto the concrete sounded too loud in her ears, staring at the glint of the butterfly knife and the sly expression of the enemy Spy, Chef urgently cocked her gun. With a kick, her weapon was thrown away, and the enemy advanced on her.

'Two can play at this game.'

Flicking open her hip pouches, she withdrew two knives—each a different shape—holding them threateningly up from her face and glared. The Spy chuckled and before he could open his mouth to, no doubt, spit an annoying one-liner, she risked a chance and lunged.

She had noticed his hand inching towards his hip, likely to pullout his own firearm and didn't want to give him the opportunity. His arm swung downwards intending to plunge the butterfly knife through her chest, swiftly she broke through his guard, driving the chef knife in her right sideways through his throat. The blood-coated knife stuck out of the other side of his skin, and with a vicious tug, broke free from his jugular.

The body fell to the ground in a bloody heap, the wound left torn and gaping, a gruesome sight. She did not stay to watch what happened to the dead in this place, stepping around the wall, she ran to a protected position across from her. Lifting a finger to tap against her earpiece, she called out.

["Spy down."]

With the sounds of relief echoing in her ear, she caught up with Soldier taking cover behind a particularly tall building. He was muttering to himself, and the few times he popped his head around the wall, he quickly hid again from the splash of gunfire.

"Chef! Do you have any ideas on how to deal with that?" He pointed with his thumb to the general direction of the sentry.

She hummed, peeking at the machine on the concrete hill, its body turning left and right at a steady pace. It faced the point, and she found it curious how there wasn't any of the BLU team on it already, before she remembered Sniper.

["Sniper, is it possible for you to get that sentry?"] She said into her earpiece after clicking it once.

["I'm held up with keeping the enemy away from the point,"] he grumbled.

She shut her earpiece off with a quiet curse, and her sight drifted to Soldier who was frowning severely, before she caught the blotch of colour on his shirt. Her eyes widened at the two orange streaked grenades strapped to his chest.

"Soldier!" She barked, something in her tone caused the man to straighten up immediately.

"Your grenades." She motioned, and he sheepishly handed them over.

The location of the sentry had one major flaw, now that she thought about it. It had a wall right beside it that was perfect for ricocheting a grenade off of. So with a final glance at the contraption—just to make sure she got the right angle—she pulled the pin, held down the spoon and hurled the grenade which, as predicted bounced off the wall and landed right on its heels.

The explosion was thunderous, with shrapnel flung in all directions and nearly hitting where Chef and Soldier had hidden, while the sentry was reduced to a pile of scrap. She cheered along with Soldier, high-fiving each other before she coughed, and they both turned away—embarrassed.

"Alright! Let's go—!"

_[Timeout!]_

The Announcer's voice caused Chef to stumble, her face blank in confusion, while Soldier groaned at the bad timing. He nudged her with his elbow, "C'mon soldier! Time for a break!"

* * *

In the spawn room, sitting on a bench and eating her crackers and jam was Chef. Who was currently very grumpy, her plain crackers snapped loudly whenever she took a bite and the strawberry jam dripped onto her fingers.

Around the room, the sounds of chewing and crunching were heard as most of the men ate their small snacks—sandwiches, crackers (flavoured), chips and canned beans—no conversation was held.

"Ugh! We were so close!" Scout complained, effectively breaking the silence and letting the rest begin their own tirades.

Chef sighed at the assault of noise, her head pounding with the beginnings of a massive headache. Taking a sip of water from her bottle, her food finished with just a little bit of jam left, she closed her eyes and thought.

'What am I going to make for dinner tonight?'


End file.
